


No Sleep in Brooklyn (The Beastie Boys Lied)

by imadra_blue



Series: The National Anthem in Minor Key [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon - Movie, Character Study, Gen, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Prologue, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 21:29:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1793764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imadra_blue/pseuds/imadra_blue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few weeks after the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D, Steve and Sam hunt for Bucky.  One night, Steve can't sleep, and Sam suggests a new direction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Sleep in Brooklyn (The Beastie Boys Lied)

**Author's Note:**

> This is an extracted part of a novellette that I am working on about Bucky recovering his past. It no longer worked in that piece, which will largely be in Bucky's POV. In the upcoming novella, Steve and Sam will appear later in its story. This suggests the direction of that novella, which is that the Natasha knows a lot more about the Winter Soldier than she let on in the film. In this piece, a reference is made to Skye of Marvel's Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., as the novella will include that canon and some of those characters. This piece is gen, but the series will eventually feature Steve/Bucky.

...

_No… sleep… 'til… Brooklyn!_

The oddly cadenced song lyrics ran around in Steve's head, inexhaustible since Sam had played the song for him on their way to Brooklyn. Apparently Sam had thought it funny, but at 0200 hours, without any sleep in the last thirty-six hours, Steve didn't find it funny. He found it annoying. He wasn't even sure who the Beastly Boys or whatever they were called were, but he was certain he had no use for them. Especially not when he desperately wanted to sleep, but he couldn't.

_No… sleep… 'til… Brooklyn!_

Steve gave up on the bed and flung his sheets off. He stood up and checked the hotel room's thermostat. It read at sixty-nine degrees Fahrenheit. He turned it down to sixty-six degrees. Maybe it was all those years on ice, but Steve had grown to prefer the cold. He was also enormously grateful for air conditioning. In his opinion, it was one of the finest inventions of the twentieth century. Steve moved in front of the vent and pressed his cheek against the cool wall. When he closed his eyes, he saw Bucky's face, his unblinking blue eyes, his jaw working in ways that Steve had never seen before. He'd also never seen Bucky so scruffy. He'd always been very well-groomed, his hair cut short, his face shaven clean. Steve had seen Bucky's eyes that red before, but mostly during the war.

_No… sleep… 'til… Brooklyn!_

Steve sighed. He had never hated a song so thoroughly since Busby Berkeley's musical film, _Gold Diggers of 1933_ , came out. Just thinking of "We're in the Money" instantly replaced the Beastly Boys—or was it Beastie Boys?—song in his mind. Bucky had sung it sometimes, knowing Steve disliked it, just to drive him crazy. Steve could almost see Bucky, age sixteen and already handsome enough to turn grown women's heads, on the sidewalk next to Steve, singing the song off-key and shuffling his feet in what Bucky insisted was, despite appearances to the contrary, dancing. Steve smiled at the memory, at least until it somehow warped, and instead of Bucky singing and dancing down the sidewalk, he saw Bucky stalking across the street, carrying a large machine gun, his metal arm gleaming, his handsome face covered by a strange mask.

That was no good.

Steve pushed himself off the wall and glanced around his hotel room. They had grown fancier over the years, now stocked with flat screen televisions, instant access pornography, Wi-Fi internet, digital alarm clocks, pillow top mattresses, key card locks, and coffee makers. The flat screen televisions were nice, but pornography still left Steve feeling as hot in the face as a sinner in church. He wasn't in the mood for the internet, and digital alarm clocks somewhat terrified him in the morning, reminding him too much of the HYDRA's alarms in the war. Pillow top mattresses were far too soft for his tastes, and key card locks frequently made him take the Lord's name in vain. He still wasn't sure how to use the coffee maker, and it was far too late (or perhaps too early) to wake Sam and ask. But Steve couldn't stand to remain in his dimly lit hotel room any longer. He would start thinking about Bucky again.

Swallowing hard, Steve dressed in the clothes he had neatly hung in the closet and left his room. The hotel hallways were too brightly lit, and his eyes stung a bit as he took the elevator down. He hoped the small coffee shop inside the hotel would be open, but when he arrived, the lights were off and the doors were locked. Sighing, he shuffled out onto the warm streets of Brooklyn. It only vaguely resembled his home, bearing the general shape of it, but it felt like a science fiction film had redesigned it. He wondered if Bucky had come here and got lost in the maze of modern buildings and Starbucks.

A red and blue neon open sign caught Steve's eye as he walked. Across the street, some sort of "retro" diner was still open. It didn't look very "retro" to him, with its sleek curves and polished metal doors, but if it had coffee, that was good enough for him. He stepped inside and, to his relief, noticed a waitress pouring a cup of coffee at the counter.

"Couldn't sleep either, huh?"

Steve glanced to his left and blinked. Sam sat at one of the booths, sipping at a cup of coffee as he waved at Steve. In front of him was a half-eaten breakfast plate. Sam did like his breakfasts.

"May I sit?" Steve asked.

Sam gestured and nodded at the empty seat across from him. Steve slid into the booth and leaned back, sighing.

"What kept you awake?" Steve asked. "The bed?"

"Oh, I'm starting to readjust to the soft beds. It was my MP3 player. It died, and I can't get it to work again. I can't sleep without music."

"Really? I can't sleep with music. But I don't like silence, either. White noise is perfect. I like the hum air conditioners make."

Sam smiled. The waitress came and took Steve's order for coffee and cherry pie. He and Sam sat in comfortable silence until she returned with the food. Sam waited for Steve to have taken the first bite of his pie before speaking.

"So, real talk."

Steve blinked. "Real talk?"

"Let's talk about something important." Sam leaned forward, folding his hands together. "Like how Bucky isn't here."

Steve took a sip of his coffee. "Maybe he just hasn't found his way, yet."

"Steve. It's been three weeks. I read those files that Natasha brought you. I don't think your friend can remember as much as you think he can. They fried his brain. Multiple times."

The bald truth of Sam's statement made Steve shiver. He wondered if it had hurt, when they'd wiped Bucky's memory. Steve couldn't imagine how it wouldn't have. How many times had Bucky been tortured? The pain alone was likely enough to make him forget everything: his home, Steve, himself.

"Aw, don't look like that," Sam said, sighing. "He saved you. There's something left. It just might not be enough to get him here."

"You think he's still in D.C.?" Steve asked, trying not to sound too eager and failing.

"By now, I doubt it. But I have an idea. That file Natasha gave you was missing pieces."

"After 1990. But the Soviet Union fell apart around then, right? HYDRA must have taken direct control of him at that time."

"In 1991, yeah. But there's still evidence he did work in the '90s for the KGB. What if he wasn't working directly for HYDRA yet? What if the person who gave Natasha those files took something out? What if Natasha did?"

Steve pulled the file from his messenger bag and laid it on the table. He opened it to the end. "It says he did some training exercises. There's nothing else here." Steve bent closer to examine the files. No torn paper was left by the clips, but there was a small tear on the last page, a page indicating Bucky's requisition by another organization, but the date and the organization had been redacted. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking we need research done. By someone very, very good at computers, who can hack into the KGB."

"The only man I know who can do that is Tony Stark, and I don't think it's a good idea to involve him in this. He's… not appropriate to deal with Bucky. Not that I think he's bad," Steve said quickly. The last thing he needed was for Sam to think he had a problem with a teammate. "He's just very, uh, well. Stark-ish."

Sam chuckled. "Well, lucky for you, I know someone else who might be able to do."

"What's his name?"

"Her name is Skye. I met her once when she was still a hacktivist, though last I heard she was working for S.H.I.E.L.D. When there was a S.H.I.E.L.D. You might like her. She's nice."

"Nice?"

"She's hot, Steve."

Steve sighed. "First Natasha, now you. I'm not especially looking for a date. I mean, I doubt she has many life experiences I can relate to."

"Shared life experiences? That's what you're into?" Sam stood up, shaking his head. "Then we better hurry and find Bucky before his dance card is full. Let's go." He nodded, dropped some money on the table, enough for both their orders and the tip, and started walking to the door.

It took Steve a moment to process what Sam had just said. "Bucky's dance card?" His face heated. "Was that a joke, Sam? Sam?"

Sam waggled an eyebrow and headed out of the diner.

After a moment, Steve followed, hoping that his face wasn't as red as it felt.


End file.
